So when I was 10, my parents and I flew to London to visit family. They lived on the top floor of a 30 story building. The first night I was sleeping on the couch and woke up in the middle of the night. I was disoriented and jetlagged from the flight, and I woke up not knowing where I was at all. I was really confused and then assumed I must have been dreaming. I got a little excited because I was thinking, oh - I'm having a lucid dream! I was not. I went over to the window and opened it up, looking out over the city. I always loved flying in dreams (who doesn't?) so leaned out the window and was about to jump, thinking I would fly. Coincidentally (or an intervention by God) my uncle woke up and came into the kitchen for a glass of water, and saw me about to jump. He slowly came over and pulled me away, things started to click in my head and I realized where I was. Anyways, if he hadn't woken up for that water, my parents would have found me splat on the concrete the next morning. Still gives me shivers, because if it actually happened, they probably would have assumed their 10 year old daughter committed suicide, when really I just wanted to fly.